


The Cantina

by RenegadeLibrarian



Category: Star Wars: Knights of the Old Republic
Genre: Canderous is his dangerous self, Drinking, F/M, Some adult language, a fight, did I mention the drinking? 'Cause there's a lot of that..., light-side Revan, non-explicit sexy-times, some more drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-10
Updated: 2014-08-10
Packaged: 2018-02-12 13:41:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2112054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RenegadeLibrarian/pseuds/RenegadeLibrarian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Star Forge destroyed, Revan lingers over things which cannot be changed. Attempting to lift her spirits, Canderous goes to her, offering humor and camaraderie but sends them both down a path they never anticipated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Cantina

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on ff.net, but edited slightly since then.

   
  
"Correlian rules." Canderous slapped down two shot glasses and two suspiciously unlabelled bottles on the table in front of her. Around them, the cantina pulsed and stank with the crowd of bodies. She had come for anonymity, not company.

"I seem to remember walking in alone. I am not…"

"…Very good at drowning your sorrows." The brusque Mandalorian interrupted. "You come into a perfectly good dive to mope but you're not drinking."

"Am too." She lifted her glass and jiggled it in his face mockingly.

"Not a drink." He plucked it from her fingers and unceremoniously dropped it to the floor, ignoring the shouts of protest as liquid and plastiglass splattered their neighbors. He pushed a shot glass and a bottle at her. " _This_ is a drink!" At his urging, she pried the stopper loose and sniffed the crimson liquid tentatively.

"Ordo!" She barked, "This stuff could fuel the Hawk!"  He grinned proudly, overshadowing the table as he leaned over her.

"And I won't tell you what I had to do to get it." He chuckled huskily into her ear before straightening. "Those are the last two bottles this side of Dxun and we are going to drink them. Right now."

"Or die trying?" She muttered skeptically, eyeing them warily. "I have trained in resisting poisons of the body, but this might be pushing even my abilities a bit far."

"Pour!" He commanded, pushing his own glass toward her.  Canderous waved at the open bottle in her possession and dropped himself into the opposite chair.

"And if I'd rather not?" She sighed, tipping the bottle over his glass, filling it halfway.

"Rather not?" He growled, grabbing her hand and the bottle harshly. "Our enemies are defeated and we bask in victory!"

"Not feeling much like basking, but thanks." She sulked. His grip did not loosen.

"Mandalorian warriors drink this," he nodded at the liquor on the table, "To honor the fallen. You and I," he continued in a more subdued voice, "We are warriors. We do not hide from battle, we do not hesitate to take lives but we do remember them. Eventually, they will drink to our spilled blood; tonight, we drink to theirs." With a gentleness that belied his strength and his hand still on hers, Canderous lowered the mouth of the bottle over his glass again, filling it to the brim. He did the same with hers before releasing her fingers from his grasp.

She struggled to free the breath caught in her throat.

"Allies and enemies!" He raised his glass in salute and threw back the shot. He did not flinch as he swallowed.

"Allies and enemies," She echoed weakly and followed his example. The Mandalorian liquor burned down her throat like Force Lightning and settled, hot and heavy as a coal, somewhere between her belly and her brain.

They both sat in silence.

"So, Correlian rules, eh?" She finally broke the tension.

"And no cheating, no crying. Nobody likes a melancholy drunk." He pointed accusingly at her.

"Winner?" She queried.

"Name it."

She paused a moment, a thoughtful smile spreading across her face—the first he'd seen since the Republic had dragged them all out in front of a crowd to award those stupid medals. He'd have told them those sort of ceremonies didn't mean anything and didn't do people much good, if they'd asked him. They hadn't. "A favor," she finally answered, drawing the word out.

"That's it?"

"A real favor."

"Whatever; your call. And the loser?"

"You don't think owing me a favor is bad enough?" She laughed, "Have you been paying attention this last year or do I need to remind you the kind of trouble I seem to attract?"

"Hey now, don't go counting your gizka before they hatch, lightweight!" He interjected before she had the chance to reflect on her words and slip back into her morose thoughts.

"Fine, you can hope a while longer. The loser…takes the heat from Bastila when she marches down here to drag our drunk asses back to the ship, as we both know she will."

"Merciless! I like that in a woman."

"I'm sure that's not _all_ you'd like in a woman." She retorted.

He grinned lustily, "I make no apologies for what I am. But enough of this: to battle!"

"I'd hardly call this a battle, Canderous." She rolled her eyes. _Men._

"Well, we'll see about that soon enough, won't we?"

"I suppose…" She sighed in defeat.

"Then, ladies first." He ducked his head in her direction and spread his hands wide, a courtly gesture borrowed--or stolen--from a more genteel people than his own.

She took a moment to insulate herself from the rippling currents of the Force. The Mandalorian was a strong presence and a clear one; he did very little if anything at all to shield his mind from one such as herself. It would be unfair to use perceptions unavailable to him and even though, soon enough, the alcohol would do this for her—for now, she would deafen herself.

She studied him a moment. No accusation could be repeated. She would no more waste good insights on a sober, or a suspecting, opponent than she would on a truly trashed one. The was a tactical symmetry to the game when played right and it required a certain…flow.

"You named your first blaster." She accused, per the Correlian rules to the game.

"Ah, sweet Lyra. She and I saw some good times." He capitulated, tossing back his drink. She did not need to call on the Force to know he was carefully weighing his first statement as she refilled his glass. Canderous was as much a tactician as she was.

"You think Master Vrook's lightsaber would do him, and the Republic, a little more good if it weren't lodged so far up his ass."

" _Everyone_ thinks that." She shot back, along with her drink.

"Bastila doesn't."

"Well, Bastila has…lightsaber placement issues of her own." She set her glass down for him to fill. "Which brings us to the fact that you and Bastila have…tension."

"You'd have to be dead for that woman not to grate on your nerves." He scoffed.

"Not the kind of tension I'm talking about." She smirked back. Canderous narrowed his eyes at the implication in her voice. "But my credits say it only happened once."

He wordlessly drained his drink.

She smiled sweetly as she lifted the bottle, feeling a thrill both that her suspicions were correct and that she had scored the first real point.

"It's better than you've managed with the flyboy."

She flinched but raised her glass and drank. _As always, victories against the Mandalorians are short-lived_ , she reminded herself. She had hoped Carth's anger with her would diminish in time, hoped he would understand that who she was _then_ was a different person, a person she could not even remember. And the anger _had_ diminished—as they'd tracked down Dustil and fought their way to the Star Forge she'd heard concern return to his voice and kindness to his words—and much of their friendship had been restored. But a certain coolness remained and it was killing whatever hope he'd raised in her that they might, one day, be something more than friends or allies.

"We are going to get very, very drunk." She thought out loud, not wanting to dwell any longer on yet another thing she had broken beyond repair.

"That we are," Canderous cheered, baring his teeth in a feral smile, "And I believe _you_ are stalling. Out with it, or do you concede already?"

"Concede, to a Mandalorian? Never!" She feigned outrage, giving herself over to the game. "I just thought an old man like you might appreciate a bit of a breather."

"I'm not old; I am an Alderaanian wine…"

"Sour?"

"Ante up or shut up," he challenged.

" _You_ lie about your age." She leaned across the table toward him.

"I do not!" He bristled.

"You lie about your age." She repeated clearly.

"I am every one of the days I claim!"

"And a few more, besides." She pushed his glass closer to him and leaned back, satisfied, when he grudgingly lifted it. "Tsk, tsk. Vanity is a weakness, you know. It's no wonder we trounced you."

"And _you_ don't regret going off to war, no matter what you tell the head Jedi thingy." Canderous leveled at her.

"The Mandalorian War?" She did stall now.

"You been joining any other galactic wars when I wasn't looking?"

"Other than mustering the strength of the Sith against the Republic?" She hissed, her voice growing angry and low as her reasons for coming to this hell-hole returned to her. She hated that her emotions were so volatile since learning of her history.

"You _started_ that one. Different class altogether. Back to the matter at hand. Joining the Mandalorian War: no regrets." He waved off the guilt he could see building in her face.

"That's…complicated." She sighed.

"Not really. You regret it or you don't."

"Not everything is as black and white as you see it, Canderous!"

"We challenged, you answered. If you hadn't, we'd have burned the Republic to the ground. You must know that. You left your home to defend your people, to battle in glory! There is only honor in that. You have no regrets about that choice. Nor should you."

"My regrets are not about my decision to go to war, no." She acquiesced.

"How hard was that? Now bottoms up; I've got my eyes on you, Jedi."

"It wouldn't take a Force-sensitive to notice _that_." She snorted. Canderous colored deeply. She was shocked. "You bed Bastila with the entire crew onboard but you're embarrassed I noticed you watching me?"

"That your accusation?" He ground out, roughly.

"As HK would put it, 'Incredulous Statement:'…" She mimicked her droid, a little drunkenly. "No, my accusation is that _this_ is the first time you've ever been caught blushing."

"I am not blushing."

"Are too."

"I am not, but even if I was, it would not be the first time. Just the first time…in awhile. _Hey!_ " He registered what she'd said, "There wasn't anybody onboard who'd have their delicate sensibilities…offended when Bastila and I…" He trailed off but dared her to challenge him with his stare. He'd never apologized for his conquests before and _I'll be damned if I start now,_ he thought.

"Fair enough." She grinned, still feeling she'd won the point, drink or no.

"Malak was your lover." He shot back without preamble, quickly upsetting her balance with a dig at her own sexual history. Canderous did not show mercy in battle.

"I'm…not sure." She stammered, blushing herself. He quirked an eyebrow at her. "My memories are…fragments. Unreliable. But, perhaps, I suppose."

"Perhaps, my ass. Drink."

"You're that sure I…?" She couldn't finish her question and suddenly seemed terribly small and young; Canderous was unused to experiencing her in such a state. Vulnerable, almost unrecognizable as the warrior he knew her to be. Almost but not quite. _Is this why the flyboy hasn't taken her yet?_ He mused, _Can't stand to see her look like that when he lets the past get in the way?_

"Well, unlike some Jedi, you're _more_ than the wide-eyed virgin you might appear to be. It's nothing to be ashamed of. More is… _nice_." He grinned suggestively but it was lost on her.

"I don't remember. I don't remember who I was, what I did…as her." She sounded as broken as she looked, her voice thick and her eyes downcast.

"Don't worry," He pushed her drink across the table toward her, "You might remember, you might not, but either way, it's just like riding a swoop racer: it comes right back to you." He teased, winking lecherously.

She huffed derisively but reached out to take the drink from him anyway. He tried not to savor the touch of her fingertips brushing between his own. Much as he believed in taking what he wanted, Canderous was still a pragmatist: he knew the futility in agonizing, in wanting something he could neither earn nor steal.

She examined the full glass thoughtfully against the light. That admission was…less painful than she'd expected. She'd known it must have been true. She'd suspected for a long time, longer than she was willing to acknowledge: it only made sense; together, she and Malak had turned their backs on everything they knew. She wondered if, at first, they came together out of their shared loss, their need for solace, knowing they could never go back, never go home. Allowing the Mandalorian to prod her secrets into the light made her uncomfortable, true; still, she felt no judgment, no recrimination from him and that washed over her bitter guilt like kolto. He baldly stated what he knew about her, the truths—after a fashion—that he unquestioningly accepted about her. Perhaps this was his gift to her. She pinned him with her eyes as she drained her drink in one long, considering pull. Handing it back to him, empty, she spoke.

"You _care_."

"About?" He replied flippantly but she did not answer, —what she spoke of was more than desire, which might have been embarrassing, perhaps, but something which he could handle. This was about something stronger, deeper. She would not risk speaking of it aloud; careless handling might break it. She simply pushed his own glass toward him as well, holding eye contact. And this time it was his calloused digits that brushed between hers as he slowly took the small cylinder and raised it to his lips.

He drank slowly, deliberately.

She did not look away.

A heavy hand pulled across her shoulder,

"Hey there, Beautiful," The intruding words broke the silent connection between them, and painfully reminded her of those bright early days when she had been warmed by Carth's compliments and his cocky grin. She looked up to see a young soldier, or mercenary, perhaps—it was hard to tell in the smoky half-light of the cantina—leaning presumptuously close. "A pretty little fila like you shouldn't waste her time with a broken-down stud." He offered her his arm expectantly, a gesture at odds with his crass language, and—when she did not respond—he nodded toward a table where several more men sat in shadow. "I can promise you a _much_ better time with us." He leered, his eyes roaming over her body as he returned his hand to her shoulder. "And I 'm sure we'll pay better than this poor sod." His hand drifted from her shoulder to encircle the back of her neck possessively.

She realized he did not recognize her for what she was. _Well, why would he?_ She thought to herself, _I can't imagine they see too many Jedi in this sector._

"I'll pass." She replied simply, reciting the code internally as she resisted the urge to remove the offending hand…and the arm attached to it. She turned back to her companion and reached for the bottle to refill his glass.

For the second time in one night, she found a man's rough grip encircling her wrist. Canderous' hold on her had been acceptable, even welcome. This stranger's was decidedly not.

"I'm not looking for change in company." She ground out as evenly as she could, "But perhaps I can buy a round for you and your friends. I'll have it sent to your table." He sneered at her and nodded at his friends again. They rose menacingly from their seats.

"Oh, I'll take that drink all right but I think I'll have it right here." Canderous wordlessly crossed his arms, drawing the soldier's attention back to himself. "Stay out of this, old man. Get lost. Bones get so brittle with age," he threatened.

The splintering crack silenced the cantina.  The merc buckled to the floor, screaming in agony, and Canderous barely spared him a bored glance. The injured man writhed away from the table, gripping at his mangled knee and shrieking curses.

Ignoring both him and the rest of the staring bar, Canderous poured her another shot.

She sighed.  His mouth turned down at the corners, disappointed.

"That's your idea of not fighting?" He just stared back at her, accusing. "I was _hoping_ he could be convinced to just go back to his table. It was at least worth a shot."

"My way convinced him." He groused childishly. "He left, didn't he?" The man's friends pushed through the crowd and circled their fallen comrade. The largest, and dirtiest, of the gang rose and stalked toward them. The Mandalorian glanced at the approaching brute, "And I'd like to see you talk your way out of this one."

She could have. Those used to utilizing sheer, overwhelming force to simply take what they desired usually proved weak-minded and easily redirected. But she was drunk. And Canderous was looking at her with something almost like hope.

"Oh fine, go ahead." She waved her friend off, not yet too intoxicated to know that she should have stopped him, that she should have been appalled by what he was about to do, but definitely drunk enough that 'should' didn't bear enough weight to disappoint him.

Canderous roared as he collided with the thug and sent him crashing through a table and into the rest of the crowd.  Around them, the crowd jeered and credits changed hands. She was admiring the singular way Canderous had of demolishing an opponent when she felt herself yanked out of her chair. Years of training, both recent and long forgotten, set her body in motion. She slipped his grasp and her lightsabers snapped to life before he'd even realized she'd reached for them.

"You had better chances with him," She nodded at the brawl in the center of the room, at the swath Canderous' brutal strength was carving through the crowd, her eyes never leaving her attacker. The energy of her blades hummed ominously, "We're not looking for trouble but we're well equipped to handle it. Take your friends and go." His head bobbed frantically in agreement and he skittered away, calling to his friends.

"Vlmar? Vlmar! We're going—get off of him, we're going!" His nasal voice matched his rodent-like features. The rest of the gang, hearing their companion's call, looked up to see the shimmering energy of her weapons, held defensively before her body.

The fight was over more quickly than it began.

The patrons settled back to their drinks and their pazaak, the moment of interest-gathering attention passed. Canderous collapsed back into his chair with a great gust of satisfaction.

"You should let me heal that," she leaned in, shifting her chair closer to his so she could gingerly brush his hair away from a deep cut along his temple.

"Can't let you…is cheating," he grinned. "You heal this and at the same time, you'll undo all the drinking I been working at. And then you'd just tell everyone I had you at a disadvantage after I win. Fair fight or none at all." He slurred, preening at the attention and still buzzing from battle. He did not brush her away, despite his objections.

"Then it's…your turn." She used her sleeve to dab away the blood running toward his eyes. She could feel the dizziness rising as the buzz of the fight diminished and she wondered idly how the two of them had come to be seated so closely.

Canderous was speaking but she remained focused on how his knee rubbed against the side of her thigh now that she sat so near to him. _That is very distracting_ , she thought absently.

"Well?" He snapped his fingers at her, "You in there, Jedi?"

"Sorry, been drinking something they mined off Peragus. Turns out, not so great for the brain," she teased, "Repeat it for me?"

"I said, you've never let yourself get drunk before." He looked her up and down, amused.

"We didn't play by Corellian rules back at the Academy." She laughed, equally amused by her own inebriation.

"The Jedi let you play drinking games?" He queried as he handed over her shot. She missed and cupped his hand in her own as she attempted to take the glass from him. She looked up at him seriously.

"Do you really have to ask?" She wondered if he'd hit his head when she wasn't looking.

"So you weren't such a goody back then?"

"Umm…Dark Lord of the Sith. So, no…not so much."

"I meant before then, but I see your point."

"Obviously. Alright, my turn. You…" The shadow over their table derailed her question. "Good evening, Bastila."  She failed to keep the irritation out of her voice.

"Hey, don't forget to drink that!" Canderous goaded, ignoring the fuming Jedi looming over them. "I've still got my eye on you!"

"Both eyes, from where I'm sitting," she smiled mischievously at him. Bastila took one step closer to the table so she gulped her shot down quickly before the Jedi could confiscate it. The outraged look on the brunette's face set her snickering.

Canderous snatched the remaining bottle off the table and concealed it with a deftness that belayed the amount he'd already imbibed.

"Private party," he growled.

"A party," Bastila began, her voice ripe with sarcasm, "How nice for you both. I would have expected this from _you_ ," she pointed at Canderous, who grinned back, "But you…well, I would have hoped you had learned a great deal more care than this, considering your past." The coldness of Bastila's tone killed the laughter at the table. She turned away from Bastila and addressed Canderous instead.

"This is definitely your job." She nodded at him sagely.

"My job!" His eyes shone with the thrill of a challenge, "You haven't won yet, lightweight!"

"But I will. There's no use fighting the inevitable." She patted his hand affectionately, "Now be a good boy and take your impeding loss like a warrior."

"You want her gone so bad, you make it happen." He dared her. "You're the big, tough Jedi." She gasped teasingly.

"Are you calling me fat?" She simpered in mock affront. Bastila's angry flush grew deeper as the two continued speaking as if she were not there.

"You can do whatever, or whomever, pleases you," she leveled at Canderous, "But _you_ are coming back to the Ebon Hawk with me. What would the Council say, after all they've done? All they've forgiven?" Bastila grabbed her above the elbow and propelled her out of her chair.

"Stop it!" She jerked her arm free, "There has been an unacceptable amount of grabbing today! I'm going to throttle the next person who touches me without asking first!" She waved Bastila off. " _You_ go back to the ship if it's so important. I'll walk myself home, thank you." She glowered and settled herself back at the table.

"Fine!" Bastila shouted at the both of them, "You want to make an embarrassment of yourself?  Fine!  Go ahead and tarnish the good name of The Order!" Canderous' face brightened eagerly at the thought. "I had hoped for better from you." Bastila hissed. She stormed out through the still-dense crowd of bodies.

"That woman's like the dunes of Tattooine; she gets everywhere and rubs you raw." Canderous muttered darkly at her retreating form.

"She means well, she's just too…she's…know what? I don't want to talk about Bastila."

"Because she's a..."

"Because _I_ still have to drink your ass under the table." She slapped her glass back in front of her, resuming the game.

"Do your worst, Jedi," He slid the bottle back onto the table and she couldn't help notice the size of his forearms, of his hands. Of him. The Mandalorian was a larger man than she'd realized. She tilted her head at him curiously as she regarded him. "Well? I'm waiting."

And so, she realized, was she. Waiting to catch up with herself, with what she'd known—somewhere—since he looked at her so honestly as he drank to her accusation that he cared.

"You're not wondering how tonight is going to end." She said simply, her voice straightforward and final.

"Don't have to. Known all along; was fun though." He flashed a wry grin as he drank and, for the first time all night, grimaced at the aftertaste. "This the last round, I take it?"

"I think so." She glanced at the nearly empty bottle as he tipped its dregs into her glass. "Last accusation; all yours."

"You never considered me." He did not look at her but he spoke with the same measured tone she had used. He knew he shouldn't ask, that there were some things better left alone, just as he knew that she would not thank him for making her say it. He knew that she would feel guilt over having to concede something she thought would hurt him. But as much as he didn't want to hear her acknowledge it, he knew he needed to hear it: the warm haze of the evening had moved him too close to hope and he could not live with hope. His implants were catching up to the speed of his drinking and he could already feel himself edging back to something that more closely resembled sobriety, so he pushed her last shot across the table, willing her to hurry up and drink it before he had to face her dismissal without the pleasant numbness of the liquor.

She stared at him but did not touch the drink.

"That's not what you should have asked." She shrugged, leaning back in her chair.

"You forfeiting?" His demanded darkly.

"You should of asked if _I_ wondered how tonight was going to end."  She toyed with the glass, running her finger over the rim but never lifting it from the table.

"No need for it."  He glared.

"But you didn't wonder if there were…"

"There aren't."

"But how did you know?" She asked lightly but her gaze remained serious.

"You are what you are. I'm something different."

"And I can't like what you are?"

He paused. "You don't mean that."

"I don't think you get to decide what I mean. How could you know that?" She persisted.

_"I know you!"_ He barked, surprised that she was twisting the knife. It was unlike her. "I know the way you fight, the way you lead. I know what drives you now and what drove you before. I've seen you foolishly risk everything to make one pathetic life a little less miserable when once you sacrificed untold numbers to gain the smallest bit of ground. You agonize over what you were, it plagues you. In the ways that count, I _still am_ what you once were. You don't want that."

"You say we're so different but you followed me."

"Damn it, Jedi. How could I not?"

"You followed me into an insane war to save everything you fought against." She leaned close, peering at him.

"And I'd do it again. But that doesn't change anything."

She did not offer further hints: he was a warrior, a man of action and clearly he would understand nothing less. She stood and stepped away from the table, toward the door. He would not know why she was walking away but she glanced back at him and knew he would come.

He told himself that it was his competitive nature that spurred him to follow her, goaded him into going after her. But he knew he would follow her into the suns of Tatooine.

"You forgot something." His arm shot out in front of her, slapping against the wall and barricading her way; she looked to see him holding out the last drink at her with his free hand. "Can't just walk away from the game."

"I can't drink that." Her denial almost sounded coy.  She shook her head defiantly and backed away. As she retreated toward the corner, he kept pace, matching her step for step and practically growling with every move. By the time her heel hit the wall behind her, they were cloaked in a deep shadow. He did not notice where she had led him.

"Drink or surrender," he hissed, holding the full cup between them.

She said nothing, only watched him expectantly.

"Then I win," Canderous declared and there was his smile again, the dangerous one, all fangs and fury. It made something flutter within her.

"I don't know about that.  From where I'm standing, this looks like victory for me." She angled into him, a devilish smile of her own crossing her lips. She slowly drew her palm along the arm carrying the outstretched drink as she leaned forward until her body was nearly against his. She murmured, "But, for argument's sake, if you have won, what are you going to do with your prize?"

His retort about a spice shipment died on his tongue as her mouth brushed his jaw, moved down the column of his neck.

"You must be drunker than I thought." He turned his face away from her but did not pull back.

"Jedi healing," she whispered against his flesh, "Sober as the Council itself.  But more fun."

"What are you doing, then?" He grunted, holding himself utterly still.

"I'm presenting an alternative." Her hand moved across his shoulders and down his chest until it rested, pressing against his hip.

"Anything I should know about this alternative of yours?"

"Well, for starters, you're rather overdressed for it."

He looked at her sharply.

As she spoke, she laced her fingers into his belt loops and he stumbled slightly as she jerked him forward, closing the last gap between them. Reflexively, the shot glass dropped from his grasp as he reached to steady himself against the wall with his other hand. Neither noticed when it broke against the floor, spilling the last of the challenge; she was laughing, clear and free, at the dawning realization in Canderous' face. "And here you said you knew how the night would end," she teased.

"I was going to take you back to the Hawk and put you to bed." He yanked one hand from the wall and scrubbed it across his face. She caught it between her own, twining her fingers through his.

"I think we should keep that on the agenda." She whispered, kissing the back of his fist. "If you want."

"I want," he rasped, diving for her and covering her mouth with his own, pressing her against the brick wall as he buried his free hand in her hair. The other remained entwined with hers, caught between them. He kissed her fiercely and she took her turn to match him move for move.

"I seem to remember," she gasped, "Something about throttling the next person who touched me without asking."

"I was hoping you remembered that," he rumbled, grinning against the corner of her mouth.

"Then maybe you need to get moving on that plan to take me home…" She countered.

"I'm just waiting on you, lady." He spun her toward the door, slapping her ass as she stumbled forward.

"Watch it!" She tried to scowl but couldn't stop smiling long enough to sell it.

"Or what? You'll hurt me?" He shouldered between a burly man and the Twi'lek he was bothering.

"Maybe."

"Promises, promises." He chased after her.

 

* * *

 

 "You Jedi wear too many damn clothes," he muttered, fumbling with the catches and belts of her outer robe as she drew the bunk door closed behind them. "I can't find the…" He cursed, throwing his hands in the air, and she laughed loudly at his exasperation. "If you keep up like that, they'll hear," he warned, his hands returning to slight gap at her neck, unable to keep from touching her.

"Let them." She nipped his ear. His eyes darkened with desire, stirred that she was not ashamed of him. He curled his finger beneath the neckline of her garment and softly caressing her collarbone.

"Then you're going have to give me a little help," he rasped, kissing the hollow of her throat.

She guided his fingers to the small clasp he was searching for. She could have unfastened it herself but an echo of her former life reminded her of the pleasure in undressing a lover. She wondered idly when, and how, she had learned that as he pushed the thick, outer garment off her shoulders and let it fall to the floor.

He lifted the hem of her soft undershirt but she shook her head and stilled his hands.

"You change your mind about this?" His voice was thick with passion, even as his heart dropped into his stomach and jammed his hands into his pockets, turning away to hide his disappointment. _Fool,_ he thought to himself, _Should have known better._

Her slender arms encircled his waist and she pressed her cheek against his back. He braced himself for a brutally gentle rejection.

"My turn," she purred instead and began tugging his shirt from the waistband of his pants. "Not fair if you have all the fun." He grabbed the back of his collar and pulled the shirt over his head.

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about _that_ ," he growled back at her hungrily but remained still, letting her lead. Her fingers dragged across his bare abdomen, leaving hot trails like tracer fire everywhere they passed. She pressed burning kisses down his spine and her nails played nimbly across his exposed skin. When he could be patient no longer, he twisted in her arms and resumed his exploration of her body. He slipped large hands beneath her garments to feel the softness of her unexposed skin and she shivered at the sensation of his rough calluses across her stomach, running up her back, following the curve of her breasts. She lifted her arms, an invitation.

Though she seemed small, beneath the softness of her skin Canderous felt the contours of firm muscle, the sort only developed by years of hard use. There was no question in his mind of her strength or skill. She was neither fragile nor helpless and so when she raised her arms, allowing him to peel away the last of the layers separating them, he caught both her wrists above her head before she could lower them.

" _More_ grabbing?" She teased, testing his grip and finding it gentle.

"Quiet, woman." His voice was uneven, rough with need, "I just want to look at you a moment. You can take it out of my flesh later." His unoccupied hand caressed her cheek, ghosted over the swell of her mouth, then drifted lazily down her body. She flushed with pleasure.

"If every time you grab me, it feels like this," she gasped, arching into his palm, "I'm willing to make an exception."

"I've hardly even gotten started," he rumbled back eagerly.

 

* * *

 

She lay on her back next to him, her heart still racing. He draped one arm across her body, the other curled beneath her head. Her eyes drifted shut as the quick burst of his breath tickled her ear.

"I'll hold you back from it, if you ask me." He panted coarsely into her hair.

"Hmm?" She murmured sleepily, distracted by the of warmth his body against hers. She trailed her fingers lazily across the muscles of his arm. "Hold me back from what?" His body stilled beneath her caressing fingers and she realized she might not have been meant to hear his words.

He pushed himself away from her slowly, as if it pained him, and sat back against the bulkhead. His eyes squeezed shut and he let his head fall back.  His arms hung loose at his sides. Concerned, she reached up and ran her palm over his shoulder and down the length of his arm. He did not turn as he spoke.

"I can't promise to warn you against your darker nature for the sake of your people. Or for the sake of the Jedi, or for the Light. Your strength, your glory, they were wonders to behold. Still are. You were as beautiful in the Dark Side as you are out of it..."

Her hand dropped to the bedding as she inched away from him, a chill spreading to the heart of her.

"I can't go back to that.  Canderous, _I won't_. I hate what I was, what I became." Her eyes widened with alarm at the temptation this man could present if he chose. Especially now.

"Wait, no…listen to me." He twisted toward her, reaching, only to pull back at the fear in her face. Words like these did not come easily to him but he forged forward, haltingly, watching for her reaction. "I _know_ that. I'm just warning you…I'm not like the flyboy: I can't urge you to do 'good' for its own sake and I _won't_ tell you that the past is gone, or unimportant, or that Revan is dead. Maybe she is, maybe she isn't, but either way— _I'd_ let you walk the Dark path again, wouldn't stop you for anything…except for you. And for _your_ sake, for the sake of what you are now, what you've _chosen_ to be…for that, I would…I _will_ keep you from it." He closed his eyes against the ringing silence between them.

_"Thank you_ , _"_ she finally whispered. He opened his eyes to find her staring at him intently. "Come here." He relaxed, letting her tug him back down until he was again lying beside her. She closed the space between them, curling herself against his exposed chest as she spoke sternly, "Don't compare yourself to him." She cupped his face in her hands and waited until he raised his gaze to look her in the eyes, "Like you said, _you_ know me." Relief washed through him and he masked it by raising his eyebrows suggestively and rolling over to cover her body with his own.

"And I'm planning to know you again," he smirked. They both knew that wasn't what she'd meant. She let him get away with it.

"You're going to be impossible, aren't you?" She stopped his mouth with her own and, despite his suggestive words, he kissed her gently, tenderly, the pads of his fingers rubbing tiny circles on her ribs.

The warmth blossoming in her belly had nothing to do with the liquor.

 

 


End file.
